


Comm Chatter

by ibonekoen



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibonekoen/pseuds/ibonekoen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after Skyfall. Written for this prompt on comment_fic over at Livejournal: Skyfall - Q/James Bond - sometimes he listens in</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comm Chatter

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine. Just borrowing them for smutty funtimes. Not for profit.

He can't help it, really. The task of keeping tabs on 007 during missions continuously falls into his lap, and Q finds himself beginning to question whether that's by chance or design. He's the head of the department, after all; he could easily delegate the task to any number of minions—he means, ah, employees—in the Q branch, but he rationalizes his interest in tracking 007 as mere insurance that his gadgets and tech get returned to him in one piece.

Truthfully, he doesn't give two figs about the tech or gadgets; there are other...perks to listening in on 007's comm chatter.

It's late in the evening and everyone else has already gone home, leaving Q alone with his favored Scrabble mug and a biscuit, his feet propped up on the table as he leans back in his chair. He's sipping tea, nibbling at the biscuit and monitoring 007's vitals when he sees it—that familiar spike, an elevation in heart rate.

Q swings his legs off the table, dropping his feet to the floor and sitting up straight in a graceful move that he could never consciously repeat, and he leans in ever so slightly, focusing on the sounds filtering through the comm link.

There's a soft sigh that prickles his skin, followed by a low, rumbling hum that has to be 007. "Oh, James," a wispy, French-accented voice breathes, and Q assumes that must be their target's wife. His lips quirk upward in slight amusement, then he bites his lip, hearing the whisper of fabric moving. Their clothes must be coming off, then.

Q leans back, feeling a tingle of excitement as his mind paints a picture of what's going on based on the sounds. There's the audible sound of a wet kiss punctuated by a loud, feminine moan, and Q swallows heavily; feeling a bit warm, he reaches up, fingers scrabbling to loosen his tie.

He can see it, James kneeling at the foot of the bed, the woman's legs hooked over his shoulders. He's leaning forward, head bowed, his mouth covering her most intimate place. Q has a strong notion of what James' tongue is doing—he's no blushing virgin, by any means, and while his tastes have always leaned toward the male persuasion, he has pleasured a woman or two in his day—and he can certainly imagine what it would feel like on his own skin.

His hand wanders down, idly rubbing at the thickening length encased in his trousers, but he forces himself to stop after a moment. After all, it would be highly unprofessional to jerk himself off in the middle of Q branch.

The woman's cries are growing louder over the comm and Q's skin is growing warmer, seemingly shrinking until he feels it's at least two sizes too small. There's a faint thrumming through his body, and he gulps down some of his tea, doing his best to ignore the tha-thump of his own heart. The woman shouts something in French, and the comm is filled with ragged, heavy breaths. He shudders; he can almost see the cocky smirk on James' face as he leans back on his haunches, naked as can be, his hard cock jutting proudly toward his stomach.

He'll be crawling onto the bed next, and Q squirms just a little, feeling his dick throb. Why oh why did he insist on wearing the cotton briefs today? The fabric's rubbing against him just enough to drive him crazy, and he bites down on his bottom lip as he hears James grunt, the sound mingled with the woman's soft moan.

_That would be him entering her_ , Q thinks, and he can't help but wonder what it would feel like, 007's girth sliding into him as the older man's fingers tightly grip his hips, holding Q in place beneath him as he pistons into him repeatedly, each thrust pushing him higher and higher on the bed until he's clenching the headboard just to stop himself from banging into it.

Q's flushed, skin feeling overheated, and his dick is pulsating with want, trapped inside his maddening, chafing briefs. "Oh, bloody hell," he hisses before he unzips his trousers and slides his hand inside. He lets out a relieved groan as he fists his aching length, and to hell with professionalism. He times his strokes with the rhythm of James and the woman's moans, his eyes slipping closed.

It takes no more than three sharp tugs before he's coming, exhaling loudly as he bucks up into his fist, and he sags back into his chair, satisfaction settling into his heated skin.

"I'll take that to mean it was good for you too?" James says, his voice warmed with amusement.

For a split second, Q's heart beats out an erratic cadence, his entire body going rigid with the fear that James is speaking to _him_ —oh god, surely he didn't have the comm broadcasting on his side—but then the woman gives a breathy laugh and informs him that yes, yes it was, and he relaxes, collapsing back against his chair again.

He's in the bathroom attempting to clean himself up a bit when James' voice comes across the comm, whispering "Trust it was good for you too, Q?" in that intimate lover's way that zings straight to Q's cock.

He's too mortified to dignify that with a response though.


End file.
